


the way that you know (what I thought I knew)

by RenderedReversed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (say it with me now), Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Guide Harry, M/M, Rehabilitation, Sentinel AU, Sentinel Voldemort, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: People talk. People whisper.Harry hears it behind his back:The Guide that tamed the Dark Lord, they call him. It makes him feel sick to his stomach.Or, in another life, there's neither a prophecy nor a botched horcrux ritual tying Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort together, but. They find each other anyway.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 47
Kudos: 895





	the way that you know (what I thought I knew)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiegenlied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiegenlied/gifts).



> To modoki, because we were talking abt wanting more sentinel au and how if you wanted something done, you better do it yourself,

The thing about public perception is, it's all vastly exaggerated anyway.

Just take a look at Harry: he got average grades all throughout school, nearly got kicked out of training academy _twice_ , and somehow still got a position in the Ministry's elite Department of Peacekeeping Operations. Albeit it's not like he's involved in field work. At least _that_ makes sense.

Still, screening for _anything_ to do with PKOs—pronounced "peekoes" for people who want to get cute with it—was ridiculous. Harry's still not sure how he got past the first interview, never mind how he got an interview in the first place. He never even submitted an application?

Anyway, the point is, Harry hates saying he works in PKO because everyone suddenly thinks he's some super amazing Guide and then he has to explain no, he's just the receptionist, he doesn't actually _do_ anything that involves peacekeeping unless it's to keep the peace in the office when the coffee machine breaks down. People usually either wilt in disappointment or give him a dubious look like they don't believe him. There's no way that _the Guide that tamed the Dark Lord_ works as a bloody _receptionist_.

See? Public perception.

The title itself is bollocks anyway. Harry was just at the wrong place at the right time. There's no—in the first place, _taming_ is such a dirty, scummy word. He'd sooner lick the ground than use it.

And he's sure, he's _certain_ that Voldemort feels the exact same way.

"Potter," Harry says, flashing his badge.

The guard beckons. Harry starts to take off his bag for inspection, but the guard interrupts him.

"No need for that, Mr. Potter. We know you're fine. You can head on in." A wry smile appears on the guard's face. "You-Know-Who's a little impatient today. Figured it'd be best for us all if we ah, cut short the usual routine."

Harry smiles back apologetically. The guards are well-trained Sentinels and can control themselves relatively well, but even they can't hide the ripple of uncertainty and unease that moves among them. Harry doesn't blame them. Voldemort in a mood is, well.

"Suppose I _am_ late," he says, and gets a move on.

He's technically not supposed to do this, but—

Like soothing a spooked cat, Harry reaches out lightly and tweaks the tension just sideways. The ripples smooth to a calm. There's a collective sigh of relief behind him.

His influence won't last, but hopefully it won't have to.

Voldemort's lodging is several miles out into the woods. Harry proceeds on foot—not because he's a masochist or anything, but mostly because Voldemort _hates_ cars, and even the first mile around the perimeter is within his range of senses. The prat says he doesn't care, but when Harry has to spend the first thirty minutes working him out of his mood, he so obviously _does_ that it's just better for everyone involved if Harry takes a hike.

Besides, it's not like he has to walk for long, these days.

After a brisk fifteen-minute stroll, Voldemort makes himself known: lapping at the corners of his senses, slowly seeping further and further up the shore. He fills him like this and, yeah, he's annoyed. The not-his irritation that heats like sand in the summer, hot and dry and scorching, in the back of his mind strengthens, swirling, piling up like dunes in the desert. Despite the threat of a sandstorm, Harry grins.

He entangles them together until the irritation is his and molds it into an oasis.

Voldemort steps out from behind the sprawling branches of an old oak.

"You're late," he says.

"Don't sulk," says Harry. Then, feeling the spike he'd gotten in response, he adds, "There was traffic, sorry."

The thorn eases. "Must you put yourself in danger by travelling in those death contraptions."

"They're perfectly safe. How else would I get here, through the post?"

It's kind of cheating, but when you can sense a drunk mind five blocks down, or know exactly what car's driver is totally distracted to switch lanes, avoiding accidents has never been easier.

Voldemort doesn't acquiesce so much as he stops talking entirely. Harry allows it, lets himself go lightheaded as high tide rolls in and the sheer presence of him floods the space in his mind. Each ebb of a wave is Voldemort flexing his senses, touching before receding, ensuring Harry is to all his knowledge hale and healthy.

The inspection proceeds. How long it's been, Harry muses, from when he'd first taken offense to what he'd then viewed as a threat. Intimidation tactics. Certainly the guards thought so.

But Voldemort doesn't need such overbearing methods to intimidate someone. He never has.

Harry breathes in deep, regulates himself to ensure he's not unconsciously guiding, makes sure Voldemort has time to let himself feel before he brings him back. Only then does he approach, bridging the gap that Voldemort does so love to leave between them.

 _If only_ , the echo murmurs, crashing in with the waves, _to watch him close it._

Palm presses to palm. He's at work. "Easy," Harry murmurs back. "Too much input. Lower…lower…there we are."

Voldemort laces his fingers through the space between Harry's. His nostrils flare, but the presence settles. Around them, the world that had suddenly drowned out in his single-minded focus of Harry slides back into clarity, just like slipping back on a pair of glasses.

Harry smiles up at him. "Hello."

"Hello," Voldemort replies, dipping his head so their eyes lock.

Harry waits for a moment before nodding to himself. They're focused and present, good. "How was your day today?"

Voldemort pauses. That too is a good sign. He used to sneer and spit vitriol at Harry for asking such an "inane question".

"Fulfilling," he finally settles on.

Harry nudges him. "What about?"

"The first eagle chick hatched today," Voldemort says slowly. "From the brood by the lake. The father hunted all day, searching for prey to feed them. He finally caught a vole, and they ate well."

"And what did you do during all this?"

"Read a book. ' _There is an ecstasy that marks the summit of life, and beyond which life cannot rise. And such is the paradox of living..._ ' I thought that if dogs could have such thoughts, perhaps the eagle, too, could feel the visceral ache of desperation, and had it mold into the thrill of the hunt.”

Harry hums, but doesn't voice the pride he feels. Voldemort would not want it; not for something that, in his view, ought not to be considered a feat worth celebrating. But Harry does, and he's proud.

"I'm glad," he says instead, "that you had a good day."

"And how," Voldemort begins, the words still foreign on his tongue, but he tries, he's trying, and that in and of itself is worth the weight of gold, "how was yours?"

"I'll tell you all about it back home. Do you mind taking us back?"

Voldemort tilts his head, listening. Listening for what, Harry doesn't know, but he can surmise a guess: that everything's alright, that the house and the paths and the compound as a whole is safe, that the guards are doing their due diligence, that everything in his territory is just as it should be in order to welcome Harry into the heart of it.

And it is. "Yes," Voldemort says, and tucks Harry close. Harry, familiar with his methods by now, helps to make himself as easy to carry as possible.

Then, the world blurs around them. This time, in Voldemort's version of a brisk, fifteen-minute stroll.

**Author's Note:**

> my feelings are deep for this but so's the ocean
> 
> ,,,welp back to animal crossing!!


End file.
